


With The Flow

by mardia



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicola had spent those weeks believing it wouldn’t happen, that it <i>couldn’t</i> happen--and it had been both a relief and rather deflating when it didn’t, when Clare Ballentine eventually amassed enough support that she became Leader over Nicola and Dan Miller.  (Post series-3 AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Flow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voodoochild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/gifts).



> Saw this prompt and I couldn't resist. :)

Nicola has no idea what to expect in her meeting with the new Leader of the party. 

But then, Nicola’s given up trying to predict anything these past few weeks, not since her name was put forward as a dark-horse candidate for Leader of the Opposition following the election and the party’s fall from power. 

At first Nicola had thought it was some kind of awful joke. And then she’d come to the even more awful realization that it _wasn’t_ a joke, and spent the past few weeks in a horrible daze, doing her best to avoid the press, dampen her family’s expectations, and attempt to convince everyone in the party that, no, no, she really did _not_ want to be leader, thank you. 

Nicola hadn’t succeeded at any of that. She’d been on the cover of all the papers, each one of them gleefully speculating on whether she somehow would end up unseating either Dan Miller or Clare Ballentine for the position, James had been excruciatingly smug the whole time, and absolutely everyone she’d met had been convinced that Nicola was just assuming a pose of modesty and that she really did want to be leader of a party that had just lost an election and was in desperate need of a strong guiding hand. 

Nicola had spent those weeks believing it wouldn’t happen, that it _couldn’t_ happen--and it had been both a relief and rather deflating when it didn’t, when Clare Ballentine eventually amassed enough support that she became Leader over Nicola and Dan Miller. 

So, Nicola isn’t in charge of the party. She’s not sure _what_ she is now, honestly--she can’t imagine she’ll have a position in the Shadow Cabinet after all this, and while she’s glad not to be Leader, Nicola isn’t ready to become just another lowly back-bench MP again. 

No matter what happens though, at least it’ll be finally over, and Nicola will finally have some peace and quiet to pick up the pieces of whatever’s left of her political career. 

*

The actual meeting, however, doesn’t turn out at all how Nicola expects. Nicola goes into it determined to put a smile on the whole thing, shake Clare’s hand, give out congratulations and wait for her dismissal. 

It starts out as planned, Clare looking politely bored as Nicola comes in, saying, “Oh hello, Nicola. Take a seat, won’t you?”

“Thank you,” Nicola says, sitting down at Clare’s desk. She tries not to look around the spacious, half-filled office, and mostly manages, she thinks. 

It’s almost over, Nicola reminds herself. “I’m glad you’ve won it, Clare,” she says, powering forward. “Very, very glad, very relieved,” and the polite, dismissive look on Clare’s face is replaced by something sharper, more probing. 

“Relieved,” she repeats incredulously, and Nicola flushes at the slip. In for it now, she supposes.

“Well...yes, honestly,” she says, and Clare’s eyebrows shoot up. And perhaps Nicola shouldn’t say it, not with her political career in the balance, but she’s been saying this very thing for weeks now and hasn’t been believed once, not by her own staff, not by her own husband--it’d be so nice to be believed now, finally. “Clare, I didn’t want to be Leader.”

Clare sits back in her seat. “No, you actually mean that,” she says after a long moment. “Good Lord.”

“Of course I mean it,” Nicola says, even though there’s no “of course” about this entire situation, and hasn’t been for weeks. “Clare, I _never_ wanted the leadership. I never put my name forward for it, never.”

Clare stares at her for the longest time, and then--she laughs, sudden and loud. “I believe you, I really do. God knows I shouldn’t but--how on earth did you come into it then?”

“I don’t even know,” Nicola says, the words tumbling out of her in a rush. “Honestly, Clare, I got called into one of those ridiculous late-night meetings, everyone crammed together in a tiny hotel--”

“--high on caffeine and operating with no sleep,” Clare murmurs, and Nicola nods emphatically. 

“Yes, it was exactly like that, and someone comes forward, telling me that my name’s been mentioned, and I kept telling them no, and when that didn’t work I said no, fuck off--” Clare laughs at that, “--and even that didn’t work, not once they--” Nicola stops awkwardly, glancing at Clare, but that glance is enough.

“Not once they’d figured out you didn’t have any nasty skeletons rattling in your closet,” Clare says, voice drier than the Sahara, and Nicola nods. It had been the biggest sticking point, Clare’s previous gambling addiction, the reason so many in the party had been looking for any alternative to Clare, despite her being the most qualified by far for the position of Leader. 

“But I didn’t want it,” Nicola says hurriedly. “Really, Clare.”

Clare nods. “Okay. So why not?”

“I--” Nicola stops, and clears her throat. “Sorry, you want to know why not?”

“Seems like a reasonable question to ask,” Clare says, still dry. 

Nicola takes a breath. It’d be madness to admit this at all, let alone to Clare Ballentine, but if she’s in for a penny, she might as well go in for the whole fucking pound. “Because I would’ve been all wrong for it,” she says, frank. “It would’ve been a disaster, having me in charge of the party. I knew that, that’s why I didn’t want it. But you…” she trails off, then takes a breath and smiles at Clare, her first honest smile since she stepped into this office. “I think you’ll be great, Clare. I really believe that. That’s why I’m so relieved.”

Clare stares at her for what feels like an age. “Thank you, Nicola,” she says. “That--well, it means a lot, truly.” She smiles at Nicola, a small smile but a genuine one, and Nicola smiles back. 

“Well, I should get going,” Nicola says with a little laugh, starting to rise out of her seat. “Let you get back to business.”

Clare stands up with her, but says, “Can you come back in tomorrow? Say, ten o’clock?”

Nicola blinks. “Sure,” she says slowly. “But...why?”

Clare’s smile doesn’t get bigger, but it somehow becomes more amused. “Humor me. Tomorrow morning?”

Nicola’s baffled, quite honestly, but she still nods. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

*

Next morning, Nicola’s waiting in front of Clare’s office, still feeling baffled but also, despite everything, rather hopeful. She already knows full well how Dan Miller’s been shuffled off to the political equivalent of Siberia, but Clare asking Nicola to her office like this perhaps means Nicola won’t suffer quite the same fate.

At ten on the dot, Clare opens the door and ushers Nicola in with very little ceremony, telling her to take a seat and then sitting opposite Nicola at her own desk. 

“I’m instituting a clear out,” Clare tells Nicola. “Getting rid of the dead wood, finding some new blood for the party.”

“Good, that’s excellent news,” Nicola starts brightly, but Clare’s staring at her like she expects more, and well. It’s not like opening her mouth and being totally honest didn’t work out last time, there can’t be too much harm in trying it again. “I take it that, well---am I the dead wood, or the fresh new blood?”

“The latter,” Clare says. “I’d like you to stay on in the Shadow Cabinet, preferably in DoSaC, although we’ll table your exact position for later. Now ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re one of the few politicians I’ve met that seems like an actual human being,” Clare says, frank as ever, and Nicola blinks.

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Clare says, in that brutally honest way of hers, “--you’re not a _good_ politician, from everything I’ve heard. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Nicola knows she’s flushing, but Clare goes on, “Still, for all of Tucker’s rants about you, even he’s admitted you’ve got some integrity.”

“Thank you,” Nicola says, sarcastic, but Clare just smirks.

“You’re welcome. Now of course, if I’m keeping you, that won’t necessarily extend to your staff.” 

Nicola stares and then says, indignant, “What’s wrong with my staff?”

Clare raises an eyebrow. “Other than their incompetence, not much,” she says. “Also that younger one, Oliver something--”

“Ollie,” Nicola corrects automatically. 

“Mm, him. You do know he was attempting to switch sides while the Leadership was being settled? Tried to go over to Dan Miller’s side, then my side--and then you popped in and suddenly he was your man again.” Clare fixes Nicola with a look. “You can keep your whole staff if you absolutely insist, but if I were you, I’d chuck him. Incompetence is bad enough without adding disloyalty to the mix.”

Nicola stares at her, and Clare smiles. “Think it over, Nicola, no need to make a decision now.”

“How much time have I got?”

“Until tomorrow morning,” Clare says, and when Nicola stares at her, shrugs. “I didn’t say I’d give you a lot of time.”

“No,” Nicola says suddenly. “No, I don’t need the time to think it over. I’m in. If you want me in the Shadow Cabinet, then I’d be happy to accept.”

Clare smiles, broadly, and offers her a hand. “I had a feeling you’d be up for it.”

“And thank you,” Nicola adds quickly. “For the advice and for--well, for saying I’ve got integrity. I think it’s the first real compliment I’ve gotten in quite some time.”

“Keep yourself up to the mark, and it’ll be the first of many,” Clare says, brisk. 

As the meeting comes to a close and Nicola heads for the door, she hesitates, then turns around. “Clare--if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you decide to go after the leadership? Why now?”

Clare shrugs, setting back in her seat. She looks at ease there behind that desk, far more comfortable than Nicola can ever imagine being. “Because I got tired of watching the idiots and lunatics run the asylum,” she says, and that sounds like the most reasonable thing Nicola’s heard in ages.

*

Nicola’s coming out of Clare’s office, still in a daze, when of course Malcolm Tucker picks that exact moment to sneak up out of nowhere. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nicola says, hand to her chest, waiting for her heartrate to come down to reasonable levels once more. “They ought to put a bell on you.”

“Good meeting?” Malcolm says, hands in his pockets. “Have a nice little chat with our new Leader?”

“It was fine,” Nicola says, adding with a shrug, “Bewildering, but fine.” Malcolm nods, not looking at all surprised by this, and Nicola narrows her eyes. “Did you know she planned on offering me a spot in the Shadow Cabinet?”

“Nicola,” Malcolm says, withering, “--the amount I don’t know would not only fit on the head of a pin, there’d be room left over for a thousand angels to dance around it. You’ve taken the position then?”

“Of course I took it,” Nicola says. “But I suppose you knew that, as well. Tell me something, Malcolm, if you know so much about this government, how about telling me how the hell my name landed in the mix for Leader anyway? God knows I didn’t--”

Malcolm Tucker has a good poker face. He’s got an excellent poker face, but something in his stance tips Nicola off, and the last few weeks all make sense at last. 

“Oh my fucking God,” she says, blankly. “Oh my God, it was you. You massive _tit_.”

Malcolm simply rolls his eyes, putting a hand on her back and ushering her into a tiny empty office, practically the size of a closet. “Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake.”

“You fucking bastard!” Nicola spits out. Malcolm turns from shutting the door behind them to glare, but Nicola’s beyond caring about that now. “Jesus Christ, Malcolm, do you have any idea the trouble I had these past few weeks trying to convince people, trying to convince _anyone_ that I didn’t want the position? And all the time it was you who--” 

Malcolm deliberately, infuriatingly, folds his arms and waits for her to finish. Temper flaring, Nicola steps forward, and then stops. She stops, and then says, more slowly, “But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? You’ve been for Clare from the beginning, but Dan Miller had too much support. You needed to split the vote somehow, so you picked on me to split it for you.”

Malcolm just raises an eyebrow, continues to look at her, and very pointedly does not deny anything Nicola’s said. 

“Fucking hell, Malcolm,” Nicola says, breathless and stunned. “Did you keep everyone in the dark over your brilliant plan? Does Clare know?”

“She does now,” Malcolm says, still infuriatingly casual. “And my plan _was_ fucking brilliant, darling, and don’t you forget it. We’ve got a decent Leader in charge of the party at last, not bloody Dan Miller and his lot, and certainly not you, who couldn’t find her way out of a paper fucking bag.”

“Thanks a fucking bunch,” Nicola snaps right back. “Thank you so very fucking much, Malcolm. Next time you decide to toy with my life and my political career, how about a heads-up then, eh?”

Fuming, she makes for the door, but Malcolm’s still in front of it, saying, “Oh, don’t play the wounded innocent with me now, you haven’t lost a fucking thing because of me. In fact, you’ve gotten more positive exposure than you’ve had in your entire fucking career, not to mention the Leader of the Party’s in your corner for some reason that passes all fucking understanding.”

“No thanks to you,” Nicola retorts. “Don’t try and tell me you put in a good word for me with Clare, because I won’t believe it. I’m in the Shadow Cabinet because Clare finds me less loathsome than half the members in our party, not because of anything _you_ did.”

“Well, congratulations then!” Malcolm spits, gesturing at her. “Who gives a toss why you’re in, eh? You’re fucking in, and Dan Miller and his lot are all looking at us, sick to their lousy guts with jealousy. Stop your whining and get on the fucking train, Nicola, because it’s not waiting on you.”

Nicola folds her arms. “Is that all?”

Malcolm scoffs and steps away from the door, throwing it open. “That’s fucking all, sweetheart. Toodle-oo.”

The dismissal sends Nicola to fuming again, and as she storms out, Nicola tosses back, “You’re still a fucking bastard, Tucker.”

Over her shoulder, she can see Malcolm giving her a sarcastic wave, and she sends a rude gesture back in reply, huffing as she walks off and ignoring the baffled glances of everyone in the corridor as she goes.

*

It takes Nicola some time to cool off, and more time to let herself think over the events of the past couple of days. She asks her driver Elvis to take her to St. James’s Park, where she sits on a park bench and takes the long-needed moment to consider everything that’s happened. 

Despite her rant at Malcolm, and despite her lingering irritation with his high-handedness and his fucking machinations, Nicola knows she’s in a far better position than she’d started out with. True, she’s still in DoSac, but she’s also in the Shadow Cabinet, and has somehow managed to get the respect of the new Leader of the party. Something, Nicola thinks in growing optimism, that she might be able to count on for the future. Hopefully. If she can keep from mucking it up. 

After a moment, Nicola pulls out her Blackberry and sends a quick email to Ollie’s account. _Come into the office tomorrow morning, we need to have a talk_. 

That sent, Nicola puts her Blackberry away and gets off the bench, brushing at her coat as she heads back to the car. “Where to, ma’am?” Elvis asks.

“Home,” Nicola says after a moment. “I’d like to go home.”

*

That night, Nicola waits until after dinner, when the kids are all quiet and settled in their beds, to head over to James’ study. James is pouring over papers at his desk, and he doesn’t bother to glance up when she enters. “Yeah, what is it?”

She’s on the train. Nicola slips her wedding ring off her finger and says, voice steady, “James, I think we need to talk. Now.” 

Her left hand feels lighter, and the words she’s about to say sit easily in her mouth.


End file.
